You Know
by Mikael-Macbeth
Summary: XXX COMPLETE, Murdoc X 2D, language, expect adult themes XXX It's always like this... Murdoc always takes him into these pubs and acts like this genius--like this... fake. Always.
1. Ambermandally

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Gorillaz... sadly. But damn, if I did..._

**Author's Note: Well, well, FF-dot-net. We meet again, and this time, I've got a Gorillaz fic to post. XD MurdocX2D to be precise. GASP!**

**So, I started writing this before the Plastic Beach arc was in full swing, so it takes place during the Kong Studios era, alas. So just go with it. D: Also, the chapter lengths will vary A LOT, as I'm the kind of person who just goes, "uuuh, there should be a scene change about... HERE." So I divvied this up into several parts, which I'll be sure to post when I can.**

**I hope my writing is enjoyable to all who read! :3**

* * *

"…You know, love, I'm in a _band_."

This is Murdoc's most superficial—yet sexy—pickup line. It's surefire, he knows, if he just throws in a couple of eyebrow and tongue waggles and, if those fail to please, a few drinks here and there. Then it's straight on to the Winnebago for a night of easy lovin' and well… it's best to be skimpy on the details and leave the rest to imagination.

And the girl this night is actually pretty good looking, _especially_ for being the first girl he's spotted for the night. She had said somewhere along the line that her name was… uh… Amber? Amanda? …_Sally?_

As Murdoc's doing his best to recall her name, all while she says something along the lines of, "Oh, a _band_ you say, what's it called?" 2D has placed himself into the adjacent corner, accompanied with a frothy beer and a bad temperament.

_It's always like this_, he thinks quietly to himself with a headache coming on, numbing yet stinging, like a child poking at his brain with a stick with _quite_ the pointed end. Murdoc tells Russel and Noodle that he and 2D are going to have a "night out" (much to the chagrin of the other two), invites the blue-haired singer along, a girl finds 2D, and then the Satan-worshipping bassist completely overrides him, leaving 2D in a corner, sulking and feeling like some sort of broken, black-eyed third wheel. Murdoc always takes him into these pubs and acts like this _genius_—acts like this… _fake_.

_Always_.

"You know, _I_ tried to be in a band once," the girl says—_Ambermandally_, as Murdoc has come to name her in his mind—"but then my boyfriend cheated on me with the fucking slut from Washington who was our guitarist, and I had to boot her out."

Murdoc crumbles.

"Boyfriend, eh?"

"Oh, yeah. He apologized, though, and now we're all lovey-dovey again. It's all cool," she says, taking a swill of her beer and batting her eyelashes. Suddenly her phone goes off like some sort of ironic trill from the heavens, and, throwing a quick "nice talking to ya," she walks off, giggling into the speaker about _whatever_ to her boyfriend that she hadn't mentioned up until _that point_.

Murdoc, speechless, removes himself from his seat and plops beside 2D.

It's like this for a few moments, but 2D knows what's coming, and he simply waits for it.

"…_Shiiit,"_ the bassist says slowly, and it's like the air is slowly leaking out of his lungs. "Y'know, Americans fucking _suck_. In fact, girls in the whole _world—_they can all just go to _bloody Hell_! Why is it that every bimbo feels the need to have a damn _boyfriend_? I mean, I thought these pubs here were for picking _up_ women, not for… for… _whatever the Hell_ she was doing! Just… hanging _around!!_ Like some _fuckin'…_"

He sort of trails off at this point, leaving the two in a steady silence. The sounds of the bar around them enfold them, and it's just the peachy scene. Clinking of glasses, yelling, the occasional foul burp: the general merriment of the mundane beer-shack.

However, the scene juxtaposes Murdoc's mood.

This is Murdoc's breaking point. When things go wrong, he quickly points fingers of blame to whoever the Hell he wants to, and right how, it's that _Ambermandally_'s fault that he's not getting laid right now. Really, what is he going to do tonight _now_ with this monster in his pants? Feed it peanuts and watch it grow bigger? Because that certainly is _not_ how it works for Murdoc Niccals.

Not in the _least_.

"Seriously, though, wasn't she being such a fucking… _twat?_" Murdoc prods, checking for conformation from his mate, elbowing him a few times.

2D just sighs, resting his head on the table. He ruffles his blue hair in his arms, as though he's trying to tunnel his way into another dimension out the other side of his elbows.

"…Hey, what the Hell's wrong with you?" Murdoc asks, his voice gruff; it's not like he's really concerned about his punching bag, but it's just a reaction. "I was planning on giving you her when I was finished, if that makes you feel any better."

Of course it doesn't.

2D looks up to Murdoc for a split second, his eyes red-rimmed, and for a moment, there seems to pass between them a… sort of moment. 2D thinks seriously about giving a speech about how Murdoc should just sod off, about how he should stop using him as a girl-catcher and how he should stop using him as some kind of napkin to blow his nose on anytime he damn well pleases, how he should stop playing these…_games…_ because… _because_…

But instead, he just merely manages this:

"…I think I'm gonna frow up."

He then narrowly manages to make it to the bathroom, followed by Murdoc's incredulous stare.


	2. That Much Stuff

_Disclaimer: Oh, the usual._

**Author's Note: Short section, but that only means that _more_ will come soon. ;D**

* * *

"Dear Satan… I didn't know that your body could hold that much… _stuff_."

"I… didn't know it could either."

The two are staring into the toilet, seemingly amused by the contents that came out of 2D's innards. The beer, of course, which is a murky browned color, rings some pink liquids, and then all of the painkillers he had taken, still undigested, are settled in the middle, looking… _quite_ fascinating. But in a bad way. Then there's some sort of smoggy-looking yellow goo off to the side, and 2D doesn't even want to consider its origins. Perhaps some sort of _bile_?

"We should put that on our next album cover. Teach kids not to drink," Murdoc jokes, followed by his trademark throaty laugh, but 2D is anything but amused. He's still feeling pretty sick and he doesn't have any painkillers on him, which means the headaches are only increasing in their tenacity.

Murdoc's shifty eyes settle on the singer and he sighs as he sees 2D. Pitiful sight, really. He looks like he's going to curl up on himself and disappear. Really, Murdoc doesn't have any empathy for the guy, but even the slightest smidgen of sympathy he can give. He… at _least_ owes 2D that much.

Sure, yeah, he'll go with that.

That's his excuse.

"Look, do I gotta take you back now?"

2D nods, and he can hear Murdoc's sigh.

"_Fine_. C'mon, face-ache. But just so you know, it's _your_ fault that I didn't get any."


	3. Pure Silence

_Disclaimer: The usual, babe._

**Author's Note: Sorry if the first little bits have been slow. It's meant to build. It's like... "Enter Sandman." Only it's not a song, it's a dance... With a Satan worshipper and a blue-haired Buddhist. XD**

**By the way, there's a certain reader out there--WINK WINK, ANNA--who should be watching for foreshadowing in this chapter. Heehee.**

**Have fun. ;D**

* * *

The drive back is pure silence.

The two had taken the Winnie because, of course, Murdoc had expected a lovely lady (or perhaps even two… or seven) to be brought back in tow with them. But, of course, boyfriend issues and 2D puking his nonexistent brains out hadn't been factored into the equation. Huh. Murdoc needs to start doing more math. He hadn't gotten a Ph.D. in Mexican jail for nothing, after all.

Meanwhile, 2D stares out the window, watching telephone poles and other cars and people passing by at an incalculable speed. In his half-minded state, they all look so blurry, the colors melding and melting together in a jumble of odd, funny lines, like the way a glowstick looks when a picture is taken of it. It's all so insubstantial, so unreal. Like there's the pretty picture on top, but if 2D were to squint, he'd find some sort of deeper, cosmic meaning to it all. It's… weird…

_What exactly was he going to say to Murdoc back at the bar?_ The thought is escaping him quickly, and he knows it had been something important—something important enough to get him angry and to give him headaches so powerful that he needed all those pills that made him throw up. (After all, beer alone wouldn't make him do that). It's all sort of… _hazy_ now. Maybe if he goes to sleep and sorts it out in a dream, he might think of it…

As Murdoc drives on, the silence begins to make him itch.

"…Hey, numbnuts, mind if I play a few tunes?"

No answer.

Good.

Murdoc puts in an 8-track tape and just lets it roll. When it gets to a real fast song, he feels his blood boil, his hands tighten on the wheel, his foot become lead on the gas. He licks his lips and prays to Beelzebub that the cops don't catch on to his antics.

He allows his eyes to flick over to the sleeping figure, cautiously and only briefly, as though he's doing something dirty or illegal. Fucking _Satan_, sometimes… sometimes he just wants to tell him…

Oh, but _never_.

_Never_ would he speak those words.


	4. Poor Zebra

_Disclaimer: You knoooow._

**Author's Note: RUSSEL APPEARS! YAY! Give that man some love. :D**

* * *

"Get the fuck up, dimwit. Or the next time I shag someone, it'll be on top of you."

The next thing 2D feels is a Cuban heel digging into his stomach. Not the best remedy after throwing one's guts up, but it's enough to stir him from his slumber.

"I'm not carrying you. Get up," Murdoc repeats himself sternly, his tone brisk and impatient.

With weak fingers, 2D undoes the belt and slides out of the seat and onto the cement of the car-park, though perhaps a bit unsteadily. Already the smell of the nearby garbage dump is reaching 2D's nostrils, causing the singer to choke a little.

Ah, Kong Studios. _Home, Satanic Home_.

Murdoc notices his compadre's unsteadiness and, rolling his eyes, puts an arm around his shoulder and hoists him up. 2D's warm—surprisingly warm. Murdoc contributes it to his body's immune system kicking into overdrive, or… what-have-you.

"Y'know," 2D mumbles monotonously as he attempts to stumble along with Murdoc, "I had this funny dream. We was in this bed, and we were together, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's nice. Now c'mon, idiot. Don't want you falling all over the place. I'll get you to your room, but then that's it, all right? Now don't ever say I didn't ever do you any favors. And if you piss on my grave, I'm coming back from Hell to haunt you for the rest of your bloody _life_," Murdoc grumbles on, ignoring 2D, and he's not even sure if the other man had heard him at all.

It's not as though they pay attention to one another, and really, it doesn't matter.

He's just talking to distract himself.

The two head into the main building (mainly Murdoc, as at this point he's mostly dragging 2D along with him; has the sod gone and passed out?), littered with thises and thatses and who-knows-what-elses. Really, new things pop up in this place all the time—things that, most of the time, Murdoc is most displeased to find.

He passes by Russel's room, and Russel is hard at work… welding a dead zebra.

The other man notices the two of them, stops his work, and pokes his head out, his ghostly, milky white eyes seemingly prodding the bassist for answers.

"I thought you two were going to have a… oh, what was it you said… a _night out?_" the drummer questions, his tone mocking.

Murdoc rolls his eyes, hoisting the sagging 2D up a little more.

"Don't rub it in. Little bugger here's sick. Had to come back."

He isn't about to detail his little run-in with _Ambermandally_, though. That would be a tale he'd keep to himself.

"_Well_," Russel says, leaning against the doorway with one bloodstained glove while examining the other, "at least you're doing the right thing. At least, you know, you aren't forcing poor D with his problems to stay with you and have sloppy seconds. I'm actually kinda surprised."

"_Surprised?_" Murdoc intones, but then he quickly decides that he's not about to start an argument. "Whatever, I don't have time for this… _shit_. I gotta get the little runt to his room. Before he… throws up again, or… something."

"Sure thing," Russel replies with a quick, amused chuckle, and he shuts the door behind him. The welding continues on inside.

Poor zebra.


	5. Monologue

_Disclaimer: Yes, it's a disclaimer. You know the drill. Don't own. Blah blah._

**Author's Note: I... don't have anything to write here. D: But Noodle makes an appearance here! WHOO! And, uh... yeah. Uh.**

* * *

Murdoc trails on, continually heaving the dead weight he's carrying up his side like some kind of six-foot-tall kid. Honestly, for such a small guy, 2D is such a hassle to carry. It's probably because he's so… _gangly._

All the while, Murdoc has struck up a monologue defending himself_._

"I mean, really, what was I going to do? Just leave his poor arse back at the bar? I mean, he's such a pathetic sod, he probably woulda gotten… _raped _or something. By some _deviant_. Besides, _Ambermandally_ didn't exactly work out anyway, the little _tart_, so it wasn't like it was my loss in leaving anyway— "

"Who are you talking to, Murdoc-san?"

The bassist jumps at the small question, causing him to nearly drop the blue-haired singer right on his face. Luckily, he recognizes the voice at the last moment, and so he's able to stabilize himself and his out-of-sorts companion at the last moment.

"Er… it's nothing. Nothing," Murdoc answers the small figure that had crept up like a ninja in the night behind him.

Noodle sighs, crossing her arms and questioning, "I thought you were going to have a—?"

But before she can finish, Murdoc breaks in with "_Night out_, I know, I know. _Satan_, why do you people always have to get all shitty when things go wrong for me?"

For a moment, silence passes between them, and after Murdoc awkwardly shifts 2D, Noodle softens, asking, "You must… really like him… to have left and come back here?"

Of course, Murdoc is Murdoc, and replies, "Of course not. Things weren't going well for me anyway, so… Well."

He fumbles momentarily for words under Noodle's wise stare, and finally ends up with this eloquent little message:

"I don't give a shit about this numbskull."

Noodle watches as Murdoc paces down the hallway, carrying 2D all the way. Her eyebrows are furrowed, yet there is a small, unmistakable smile on her lips.


	6. Forbidden Fruit

_Disclaimer: Don't own, though I'd like to._

**Author's Note: I checked my email and found some _loverly_ reviews. It made my daaay. And I always make sure, if you review, to reply to you. (And all that rhymed. XD) Thanks always to everyone who reviews, favorites, and watches my story.**

**So, onward to chapter six--"Forbidden Fruit." Oooh, exciting, yes? ;D**

* * *

At long last, the two end up in 2D's room. Murdoc hurls the unconscious 2D not-as-gently-as-he-could-have onto the bed, and the frail body bounces a few times before settling there, limbs sprawled this way and that. Awkward position, really.

Well, mission accomplished.

Murdoc considers leaving, but he takes a few moments to sit on the bed and take a breather. After all, he dragged the little bugger all the way here, and it's not like he's got a busy schedule or anything.

He examines the room and realizes how different he and the blue-haired singer are: all the "Free Tibet" and "I HEART YOKO" posters, the keyboards, the simplistic, bright designs of the room. The only things that they have in common, perhaps, are their cleaning habits, or, well, lack-thereof; clothes and cigarettes are scattered about.

With a sigh, Murdoc again thinks about leaving, but something keeps him from moving from his spot. He thinks about the way 2D had looked at him in the bar; something on his face hadn't been right. The man had honestly been _bothered_ by something, and that had disturbed Murdoc. 2D doesn't usually think about things. 2D takes his painkillers and drifts through life, looking distracted and pretty…

Well, even Murdoc can admit that 2D is _pretty…_

Ugh.

Murdoc looks from the sleeping figure and sighs deeply, his fingers curling against the bed-sheets.

Forbidden fruit is lain before him, and he knows that he can't simply reach out and pluck it from the branch. Not _this_ fruit. If it was any other, he would take it. But this is another deal _entirely_.

…But… maybe… just once…

Turning his eyes back to the sleeping figure, Murdoc reaches out tentatively. Always he has used these hands to do such wicked, horrid things to the poor man—beat him, hit him, punch him. Never once has he done a truly _nice_ thing for 2D without thinking he would get something in return for it.

His hand slides slowly over 2D's cheek...

Deep, black eyes open slowly…

"…_Muds_?"

2D sits up slowly, holding his head in his hands. One of those hands ghosts over his cheek, in passing.

"…Murdoc, is that… you?"

When he raises his head, he sees that no one is in the room.


	7. Smoke in the Lava Lamp

_Disclaimer: Don't own Murdoc or 2D. Damon and Jamie and Cass and all of those guys do. And I bet they're writing slash right now AS I'M TYPING THIS. ...Why don't they share? D:_

**Author's Note: Oh _yeah_. ;D**

**That's really all I have to say.**

* * *

Smoke curls out of the open Winnebago window as Murdoc listens to that song yet again, his head resting on the steering wheel. Even at its lowest volume, he knows each and every cue to the song, and as it passes through his ears, he feels his chest grow heavier and heavier.

_What had he been thinking?_

_What had he almost done?_

It had been such a tiny, tender gesture, what he had done with his hand, and yet he still felt the ghost of the singer's skin—so soft—on his callused palm. It made him shiver—made him feel so enthralled.

The song ends and Murdoc is left with the silence of the car-park and the wheezing in his lungs. He watches the intricate patterns of the smoke in the lava lamp light as it dances out of the window—how it twines together and then pulls apart in the red, fiery glow. It's like it's telling him some sort of story of two lovers who, though they like each other, can't quite seem to get it right.

…Or some bullshit.

He jumps as he hears a knock on the door, then twists in his seat as he growls, "Who the Hell is it?"

The voice is small, and it says, "Only me."

Murdoc feels his stomach claw at him.

He knows what's about to happen.

It's a vicious cycle.

He waits a few moments before saying, "…Fine, come in."

The Winnebago door opens and in comes 2D, in the same clothes he had worn all night, looking heavy-hearted and like a guilty schoolchild. He grins awkwardly and stands in the doorway a few moments before Murdoc announces, "Take a seat," then, when he realizes that that sounds hospitable he adds, quickly, "Just don't puke anywhere."

2D manages to find a spot on the bed that doesn't look like it's been humped by a rhinoceros and he quietly watches Murdoc smoke his cigarette. Once again, it looks as though he's searching for words, but he's coming up empty-handed.

"…So. What is it? Come to me for a beating?" Murdoc prods, grinning, showing off all of his jagged teeth just to enhance his sentence.

2D manages to keep his eyes straight forward as he announces, slowly, steadily, "I… want to tell you something."

"Oh?"

The air becomes stale, rigid with that tiny "oh." It seems to enhance Murdoc's carelessness, and 2D retreats into a shell of sorts.

"Maybe I shouldn't…" 2D quickly says, but Murdoc is just as fast to say, "Oh, no, no, by all means, do go on," trying to take down his sarcasm a notch. He fails, of course, but by leaning forward, his fringe perfectly framing his imperfect face, 2D feels that knot in his throat, and he tongues the gap between his front teeth and wills himself to go forward.

"I… I really think that you should stop using me as your… your _girl_-catcher. And… _stuff_."

2D's voice is firm, and Murdoc stares at him blankly, only one eye—his red one—visible through his mat of black hair.

"…Really, that all?"

For a good, long while, they stare each other down. The thickness of the Winnebago heat is stifling, and 2D's suddenly realizes that his breath is a labored thing.

"…Maybe."

"Well, what else?" Murdoc prods, sitting back and taking a drag on his cigarette. 2D examines how long his fingers are—so skilled at strumming the bass. "Since this is happy-fun-confession-time, we may as well get it all out in the open, eh?"

2D shifts.

"N—No, I'm fine. That's all."

Murdoc waits.

He'll wait as long as he'll have to.

"…Well."

Murdoc perks.

"…The reason that… I don't like being your girl-catcher… It's not 'cause I want the _girls_…"

An exhale of smoke, and as the vile chemicals curl out the window, the bassist allows another small, "Oh?" to escape his lips. It's coy, toying, with a bitter-sweet tang to it.

He had been patiently anticipating this with—how should one put it?—bated breath.

"…Yeah."

Now 2D is just allowing himself to be pulled into the game—he is just a puppet on tightly-wound strings at this point.

Murdoc grins his grin, flicking the cigarette out the window and rising to his feet. He stretches out his cramped muscles and makes his way over to 2D, his hips seemingly working out of his jeans.

"Ah, and what _might_ you be implying, my little _singer_?"

2D cowers as Murdoc looms over him, and his answer is a mere stutter:

"N—nothing, M—Muds. I—I—"

The next moment, however, Murdoc presses 2D back against the bed with a devilish grin, one hand firmly planted on his chest, the other cupping his chin. Their eyes lock for what seems like an eternity, and each man can feel his breath on the other's face. Murdoc smells like nicotine, still strong and acrid; 2D wreaks of liquor, though at this point, Murdoc can't tell if it's weakened enough to the point that it's just the smell of his own natural spit or not. Still, nothing deters the men from drawing closer, even the pungent odors coming from one another's mouths.

"We," 2D finally speaks, his head cocked at a forty-five degree angle and his lips slightly parted—speaks as though he's about to die, "_shouldn't_."

Murdoc gets this grin on his face, and he bypasses 2D's lips and whispers in his counterpart's ear a phrase he's said so many times, the guilt he feels from saying it has long since been swept under a rug in the back of his mind:

"That's the fun part, innit?"


	8. This Cycle

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own ideas. ...And occasionally my socks when the Gnomes don't steal them. D:_

**Author's Note: Have you noticed how my Disclaimers have gotten weirder and dumber...? XD ANYway...**

**"This is the part where the rap breaks down," as Midnight Beast might say, if this were a song making fun of Ke$ha. But it's not. XD**

**So dig in! C:**

* * *

2D's gripping hard at Murdoc's shoulder-blades, forcing away the pain he feels. But there's pleasure. _There's always pleasure_.

2D thinks about this spontaneous notion as he moans into the other man's chest and collapses, spent, but overall quite contented with the passing events. Somewhere in the ticking of the minutes, a cigarette gets tossed his way and he manages to take hold of it and light it.

Murdoc watches him with those eyes of his, and 2D swallows down the smoke under those eyes, pleased with the taste. He wants to swallow the smoke, the smell of the Winnebago, the whole _evening…_

The bar.

2D suddenly thinks back to the bar, and all at once, 2D remembers what he had wanted to tell Murdoc in the bar.

"Muds," he says abruptly, and the other man, who's in the middle of taking his own drag, takes the cig from his mouth and utters a short, "Uh?"

"Back at the pub, I wanted to tell you something, something really _important_, and I—"

"I thought you already did."

Murdoc looks uncomfortable suddenly, and 2D draws away, his eyes unable to look directly at the bassist's face.

"Well, I told you part of it, but there was something else that I—"

"Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you should just get out," Murdoc says quickly, pulling the covers from his still sweat-soaked body and quickly grabbing for 2D's things.

"No, Murdoc, you can't just—"

"Oh, but I _can_. This is _my_ Winnie, and I can tell you to get out if I _want_ to," Murdoc replies, and as he continues to grapple at the singer's clothes, 2D bounds from the bed as well and begins to follow him as well.

"Muds, you _have_ to know—I _want _you to know!" 2D pleads. "I know you better than anyone else, and the face you show those women in the bar—that's _not_ the real you. I—I _do_ know you, no matter how much you try to hide it. I know it was you, brushin' my face in my room, and I know you always _want _to be nice to me, and I _know_," he adds emphasis to these last lines, "that you 'n' me have been having… _something_, and that you love me. Because _I_ love _you_."

Murdoc, his back to 2D, allows all the clothes in his arms to drop: a pair of boots, a couple of socks, jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and another shirt with a "T-virus" logo on it. All of it falls to the floor, each of the articles with its own distinct "thud."

"So…" he whispers, "you think you know ol' Muds Niccals, eh? Think you know him back to front?"

2D remains silent, watching Murdoc in the glow of the light.

"_I_," Murdoc continues, "_I…_"

It happens all at once.

Murdoc grabs the lava lamp to his left, spins around, and the thing comes unplugged and connects squarely with the side of 2D's head.

It takes only a few moments—the entire scene—but it leaves the younger man in a heap on the floor.

Murdoc stands over the other man for a while, then drops the lamp. He kneels down and brushes back the younger man's hair to reveal an already welling bruise—beautiful, brutal. How vicious must he be to keep his love a secret? How long must he keep this cycle—this cycle of going after women, constantly over and over, just to goad 2D into his possession—going until he is able to break it?

And that in itself is a question: _can_ he break it? Does he even _want_ to break it?

However, despite these lamentations, he is aware that he must face the consequences of what he has done. Given the precarious venture this night, he knows that he'll have to sneak in a few extra hundred milligrams worth into 2D's dosages, as it seems the previous had worn off, to keep him from remembering, and he'll have to perhaps skip a few weeks of pub-roving before testing it out again.

But oh, 2D almost remembered their previous nights together.

_The horror._

But never again.

No, Murdoc thinks to himself as he watches 2D's almost corpselike repose, he'll just have to admire the singer from afar, and while he sleeps, and enjoy the nights that the other man can't even remember.

_'You shouldn't have said you loved me, you dimwit,'_ he thinks soberly to himself, kissing the bruised temple of the fallen man.

* * *

**AN: The epiloge will be posted ASAP. C:**


	9. Epilogue: You Know

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

"So, where were you two last night?"

Russel's made pancakes and set them out on the table, and Noodle is peering up through her bangs at the other two men, as she is curious as well.

2D speaks first, scratching at his head.

"Y'know, the funny fing is, I can't quite remember—I woke up with this wicked headache, and this bruise on my head, and I felt all… like… _dizzy_."

Russel's eyes dart to Murdoc: obviously the culprit.

"Care to enlighten, Muds?"

"Oh, well, y'know, after we got back from the pub, I was worried about the little bugger," Murdoc explains, skewering one of his pancakes and dipping it into a healthy smattering of syrup. "So I decided, 'Oh, why not, I'll take him to the E.R.' And he fell a few times, hit his head once on the way, and they doped him up _real_ nice. Turns out he had real bad alcohol poisoning. Real shame, really."

Murdoc shakes his head, clamps his teeth down on the pancake, and swallows. He checks his bandmates' faces.

"Oh, jeez, Muds, that's so nice of you!" 2D practically squeals before anyone else can interject, and it's apparent from the look on his face that he's overjoyed that his "best mate" was _oh-so_ kind enough to look out for his well being. Plus, at this point, with the extra dose of painkiller going through his system, he doesn't know his ass from his face. "If anytime you wanna go somewhere, you just gimme the word, and I'll go wif you—_anywhere _you wanna go. _Me_ 'n' _you_."

Russel and Noodle look to each other, unsure if anything in this world is sacred anymore.

As for Murdoc, he smiles a patented _Murdoc-smile_, knowing deep down his secrets are intact, and all he says is "You know, D, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that's the end. I hope that everyone who passed through had a good time reading my story! Please feel free to make any comments and critiques; they are definitely most welcome (and love, too, of course xD). And _PLEASE_, make sure to keep an eye on me--I've got a few more Murdoc/2D stories that I'm working on, and if you liked this, you should like those.**

**So, _au revoir_, until next time! C:**


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